


Beware The Fruit Platter of Destiny

by vulcanhighblood



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, NB Pidge, Sex Pollen, Smut, dubcon, fruit platter for best wingman 2k16, humorous situation gone horribly wrong, hunk has a problem, pidge can help, they pronouns, this is why we dont eat strange alien fruits, under the influence of an alien aphrodisiac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanhighblood/pseuds/vulcanhighblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunk stumbles across an alien aphrodisiac while preparing a fruit platter. The results are not as funny as you'd expect, especially when a certain green Paladin shows up unexpectedly, and ends up getting a lot more than they bargained for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beware The Fruit Platter of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cupcake_kei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcake_kei/gifts).



> THIS IS ANOTHER ATTEMPT TO WRITE A BIRTHDAY FIC  
> its really long  
> there is a little bit less angst, but it's still full of angst. Leave it to me to take a prompt that could be really hilarious and turn it into an angsty h/c mess.  
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> THE CHARACTERS IN THIS FIC SHOULD BE PRESUMED TO BE 18+ UNLESS SPECIFICALLY STATED OTHERWISE

It's been a weird day, Hunk thought, cracking his knuckles and surveying the assortment of odd fruits and vegetables from the planet they’d dropped by on a whim (and because Coran insisted they had a rare element necessary for the upkeep of the castle). After so many years together, Hunk had learned to stop questioning the elder Altean and just go along with him- it usually resulted in less confusion and fewer bristling moustaches, and really, wasn’t that ultimately better for everyone? Besides, Hunk thought, surveying his loot, the markets had been pretty great. Weird, but great.

He and Pidge had developed a device awhile back to sample the chemical structure of alien foods to determine whether they were safe for human consumption. The need for such a device was, unsurprisingly, a direct result of Lance sampling an alien delicacy without consulting Hunk or Pidge, (or Coran, or really anyone with basic common sense) because he'd wanted to impress Allura.

Admittedly, she'd been pretty impressed with how quickly his face, tongue, and throat had swollen up, though this was hardly the impression Lance had been aiming for. Once Pidge and Hunk had restored the color to his skin and he was able to speak with only minimal slurring, he'd laughed it off, but Hunk hadn't missed the look of residual panic in his eyes. He'd drafted Pidge into the design work that same night, and before long the two had created a simple handheld device capable of scanning for hazardous chemicals in alien food. It sure made shopping easier, since Hunk didn't have to constantly consult Coran about what everything was.

Of course he'd consulted the locals about the proper preparation procedures for the food. They'd giggled a bit at some of his questions, and had made a few faces at him, which had been a little weird. Still, overall, the locals had been quite helpful.

Hunk sliced a few of the fresh fruits, sampling them as he went. Some were great! Others, not so much. He was nearly finished with sorting the “tolerable, possibly edible” ones from the “insult to my tastebuds” ones when he began to sense a minor problem. Well. It started as a minor problem; one that Hunk, like most teenage boys, was fairly accustomed to. No big deal, just, sometimes a boner just liked to pop out for a quick ‘hello, how's the family’ before easing away again. Sometimes it needed a little encouragement to leave, like a cold shower.

In general, Hunk didn't spend much time worrying about it and the problem usually resolved itself. Not this time. Hunk admitted defeat somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark when his pants were beginning to get uncomfortably tight. then a whole new problem presented itself - how to get out of the kitchen, down the hall, and _back_ to his room without alerting any of the other Paladins of his rather embarrassing dilemma? He could always carry a serving tray over his crotch, but that seemed rather obvious and Hunk wasn't interested in drawing any unnecessary attention. He supposed he could just book it, but Hunk was not known for his speed at the best of times, and his pants were _really_ tight and he was not really interested in trying to run with a raging hard-on.

Hunk bit his lip, groaning a little as a flush of heat raced through his body. He was sweating. He'd thought the kitchen was a little warm, now he was realizing the warm one was _him._ Hunk was beginning to panic, a little. What if someone walked in?

This was apparently not the right thing to worry about as suddenly his imagination was swimming with images of the various Paladins and _that_ was when Hunk realized this was no “minor” problem. This was a Major Problem, with capital letters for extra emphasis. He unzipped his pants, leaving his shirt hanging over the waistband which just made it look like a tiny ghost was crawling out from under his shirt. Still, it took the pressure off, at least for the moment, and Hunk could think again, pulse fluttering. The fruit. _The fruit_.

Hunk dove across the kitchen, shaking his fruit platter. “Which one of you poisoned me?” he demanded, not expecting an answer but wanting an outlet for his frustration. The fruit did not answer, and Hunk was beginning to suspect the aliens who had told him how to prepare the fruits might have been giggling for an entirely different reason than he'd suspected at the time.

“Oh my god,” Hunk spoke aloud with a dawning sense of horror. “I've dosed myself with an alien aphrodisiac.” Another thought struck him.  “Oh my **_god!_ ** ” he fairly shrieked. “I almost dosed _everyone_ with an alien aphrodisiac!” He grabbed his head and took a few deep breaths. “Okay Hunk,” he told himself, “this is not so bad. The effects have to wear off soon. Probably. I hope. Oh my goooood,” he dragged his hands down his face, “What if It doesn't wear off? What if someone _sees_ ?” Hunk was stuck with the sudden urge to _hide_. No one could ever know.

This was immediately followed by the more rational thought of “No one can ever be allowed to eat this fruit,” so Hunk swept up the tray of fruit he'd painstakingly prepared and dumped every last piece into the waste receptacle. After a moment, he tossed the tray in too, before remembering they had _cleaning_ supplies. He proceeded to sterilize every conceivable surface the fruit might have touched. Then another thought occurred to Hunk. “What if it's _airborne_ ?” he asked the empty kitchen in a horrified whisper. He found the air filtration system, turned it up as high as it could go, then collapsed into the nearest chair with a sigh. His skin felt like it was on _fire._ He groaned then, feeling another shiver run through his body. Oh god, when would it stop? He just wanted his body to _stop being so weird._

As he sat there, Hunk began to notice things. The smell of the cleaning solution was assaulting his nose, and that was just the beginning. Hunk began to feel like he could smell too much, taste too much, feel too much, see too much… smells, lights, little noises, suddenly they all felt too big, like he was hyper aware of everything at once, the way his clothes rubbed against his skin felt _wrong_ , the lights were harsh and hurt his eyes, the hum of the filtration system sounded like a churning screech of metallic gears grinding together, he could taste the distinct flavors of every single one of the near-dozen fruits he'd sampled, still lingering on his tongue. It was too much, _too much_.

Hunk leaped to his feet and staggered towards the middle of the room, feeling the air caress his cheek, his hair brush his cheekbones, the muted colors of the kitchen seemed garish and swam before his eyes. Every swish of his clothes felt like it was rubbing his skin raw. He could hear his own footsteps like the booming steps of a 100-foot giant.

Hunk squeezed his eyes shut, pulling off his gloves, his vest, his shirt, his pants, shoes, _everything._ It was too much! He clapped his hands over his ears, but that didn't help and everything was so intense he wanted to scream, couldn't scream, felt every pump of his heart jump in his chest, heard the way his breath raced in and out of his lungs, the wet trail of tears marking his cheeks, slowly drying and leaving only a trace but he _could feel it_ … He stood in the middle of the kitchen, clothes scattered all around, hunched in on himself, trying to breathe, trying not to be overwhelmed by every sensation. Gradually, the overwhelming sensations began to fade. He could breathe without hearing his muscles pulling his lungs, could stand on the tile without it feeling like his feet were burning off, the gentle brush of air no longer like tongues of flame crawling across his exposed skin.

Hunk deeply considered putting his pants back on, but he was still _really_ “excited” and was not relishing of constricting the hypersensitive organ within the confines of his cotton Star Trek-patterned briefs. He did put on the rest of his clothes, leaving his shoes off so he'd be able to get his pants on faster once his problem solved itself.

Hunk was not so desperate that he was considering rubbing himself off in the kitchen… yet. His arousal was starting to border on pain now though. Wincing at the discomfort, Hunk laid flat on the floor and willed his penis to cooperate. When his back started to hurt from the tile floor, Hunk tried lifting the table a few times, since heavy lifting might restrict blood flow to his pelvic region. Still nothing. He tried icing next, and all it did was make his dick cold and make it hurt even _more,_ probably because _ice. On a dick._ Hunk probably should have wrapped it in another towel, but he wasn't exactly thinking straight and he was running out of ideas. By this time nearly an hour had passed and Hunk was well beyond frustrated. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, he glared down at the offending bit of anatomy with a scowl. “What do you want from me?” he demanded irritably. “I'm _not_ doing that here -- people _eat_ here!” Hunk sat back down, biting his lip and wondering just how long this could last. Surely it couldn't last much longer, right?

Right?

Hunk covered his face with his hands. He was going to have to adjust the parameters of what was considered a “safe” chemical on that device. He would probably need Pidge's help with the programming angle.

Oh man how on earth was he going to broach that topic? “Hey Pidge, so I was just thinking and, completely out of the blue and _not at all related to real life experience in any way,_ I was thinking it might be a good idea to set the scanner to warn us about alien aphrodisiacs too. No, no real reason, it just sort of came to me. Completely unrelated to anything that may have happened in the past 24 hours.”

After what felt like an eternity, Hunk checked the time again. An hour and fifteen minutes. Oh man. At this point Hunk was beginning to realize he had two choices -- try and sneak through the castle _with no pants_ and take care of the problem in the safety of his own room, or do something about the problem, BURN DOWN THE KITCHEN, and _then_ retreat to his room.

He didn't like his chances of successfully sneaking through the castle half-naked, which left the second option.

“Well kitchen,” Hunk sniffed, wiping a small tear from the corner of his eye, “It's been a pleasure cooking in you.” A quick suspicious glance around (he was always on his toes in the kitchen ever since it had turned on him several years ago), and Hunk finally allowed himself to relax a bit, sitting on top of his pants in lieu of a cushion, leaning his back against the counter. Eyes fluttering shut, Hunk took himself in hand, almost sobbing at the rush of sensation. His hand had _never_ felt this good. Then again, he'd never waited this long to take care of a problem of this nature. He'd also never been under the influence of such a powerful aphrodisiac. Or any aphrodisiacs, aside from the usual naturally-occurring ones on Earth that tasted good.

Gently, Hunk began to stroke his length, almost over-sensitive at this point. Hunk moaned loudly, then covered his mouth with one hand, horrified. What if someone _heard_? Carefully, as quietly as he could manage, Hunk continued working his length, gasps and sighs muffled by one hand, hips rocking rhythmically into the other.

Considering how long he'd been putting it off, it didn't take long at all for Hunk to finish. When he did come, it was powerful enough that a shout of pleasure escaped his fingers, echoing into the empty room. Breathing heavily, Hunk waited for the ringing in his ears to fade as his vision cleared. Then he heard it.

“Hunk?” Someone was in the hall, footsteps indicating they were approaching quickly. “Are you all right? I heard you yell,” whoever it was had reached the door.

Hunk’s mind was still foggy with pleasure, but he _knew_ being found in a position this compromising would be fatally mortifying for him once the high faded. He scrambled for his pants, limbs like limp noodles. He couldn't seem to stand or find any leg holes, so he just wrapped the legs of his pants around his waist like a makeshift loincloth, face already burning with embarrassment. The room smelled like _sex_ , Hunk had _screamed,_ he was going to _die_ of sheer embarrassment.

The door slid open, and Pidge was in the doorway, bayard drawn, ready for anything… except this. Hunk. On the floor. Pants wrapped around his waist. The smell of… Pidge refused to continue along that line of thinking. “Oh,” Pidge said weakly.

Hunk looked ready to melt into the floor. “It's not what it looks like!” he said quickly.

“Oh, so you _weren't_ masturbating in the kitchen,” Pidge said dryly. “I'm so relieved.” their tone was flat and dripped with sarcasm.

Hunk winced. “Well okay, but it was an accident!”

“You. Accidentally. Touched your penis. Until you ejaculated. What a believable excuse, ten out of ten, you should use that one more often,” Pidge said, beginning to feel irritated. Then they noticed something else. “Oh, excellent. Perhaps I should leave you to round two of your ‘accident’,” Pidge added, indicating the small tent in the fabric dangling between Hunk’s legs.

I didn't accidentally masturbate,” Hunk protested, flushing at the use of the word. “I accidentally got _aroused_.”

Pidge wasn't having it. “You're aware there's more than one way to deal with a problem of that nature.”

“Well of _course_ there is,” Hunk said exasperatedly. “Did you really think _this_ was my first choice?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture to indicate the entire kitchen on the word ‘this’. He looked insulted. “I thought you held me in higher regard than that.”

“I used to,” Pidge said, slowly raising one eyebrow. “Now, though…”

Hunk’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, well, I need to take care of this,” he sheepishly gestured in the direction of his crotch, “and then run to my room and cry a lot, probably. After burning down the kitchen, of course.”

Pidge felt like they were getting whiplash. “Burn down the kitchen?” they asked slowly, feeling like they'd missed an important detail in there somewhere.

“It's been defiled!” Hunk cried, gesturing dramatically. “It must _burn_.”

“I think you're being overdramatic,” Pidge told him with a slight frown. “Just… wash your hands and mop the floor when you're done.” Pidge shook their head slowly. “And maybe next time you could… y'know… lock the door? Or wait til you're in your room.”

“Yeah, trust me, if either of those things had been an option I would've gone for it.” Hunk’s breathing had picked up a little, and his voice was straining slightly.

Pidge felt the last of their patience fizzle and die. “Honestly Hunk, what the hell?” Pidge gestured angrily. “Enough with the excuses!”

“Look, Pidge,” Hunk was practically sweating at this point, face flushed. “I know you're upset, but I think you should consider not being in this room for awhile.”

Pidge felt their anger flare slightly at the blatant dismissal. “Why?”

“Because I'm pretty sure I'm about to involuntarily jizz all over my pants and to be perfectly frank, I want them to still be wearable so I can maybe get to my room this time before my body decides it's time for round three.” Hunk was trying not to move. The gentle tug of cloth draped along his stiffening length seemed to be rubbing it in all the right ways and Pidge would _not stop lecturing him_ . He was now beginning to worry that the aphrodisiac had only begun to do its worst. His skin felt more aware of everything. Every brush of cloth against his body sent shivers of pleasure running down his spine. He couldn't focus on whatever Pidge was saying, but they looked frankly disgusted with him and he would let himself feel embarrassed about that _later_ , when his body wasn't wracked with desperation.

Pidge blinked hard at Hunk’s forthrightness, caught somewhere between admiration( _did he actually say that to my face?)_ and disgust ( _did he_ **_actually_ ** _say that to my_ **_face_ ** _?)._ They opened their mouth to say something more, and noticed the raw desperation blazoned across Hunk’s features. “Okay, I'm going. But I'm coming back in fifteen minutes to get a snack, so you better be done by then, capiche?”

Hunk nodded jerkily. Pidge rolled their eyes and slid the door shut, taking up post outside the kitchen door so no one else would make the same mistake they had. Honestly, not everyone needed to be scarred by the experience of walking in on a teammate in an obvious state of undress for less than savory reasons. Honestly! It was a kitchen, not a _bedroom._ Why hadn’t he taken care of the problem elsewhere? Pidge was so busy fuming they didn't hear the noises coming from inside the kitchen. Admittedly, the sounds were very muffled, but they increased in volume as the seconds ticked by. Pidge suddenly felt as though their ears were being molested, sudden unwanted sexual advances being made on their eardrums. Hunk was moaning, grunting, and making general sex-noises in the kitchen. Good grief, he was really _loud_ . Probably a screamer, Pidge thought absently before shaking their head viciously to dislodge _that_ particular train of thought.

The shuffles, groans, and moans climaxed about five minutes after the deadline Pidge had given Hunk, but Pidge wasn't going back in there until the dong was safely tucked away. They talked a big game and all, but in reality they weren't so desperate for a snack that they were going to risk being exposed to Hunk’s--

“Pidge?” A soft, miserable voice came through the door.

Pidge stiffened, turned and opened the door.

Hunk stood on the other side, fully dressed this time. He indicated the hallway. “I'm really sorry but I need to get to my room,” he said, face beet red with shame. “I'll clean this place up after I take care of this,” he glanced down at what appeared to be the beginnings of _yet another_ erection. Pidge couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. They'd heard tales of young men and libido, but three times concurrently just seemed ridiculous.  

“Are you all right?” Pidge asked, and the look of guilt, mixed with relief that crossed Hunk’s face served only to confuse Pidge further. “No,” Hunk confessed, “I ran into a bit of a situation with some alien chemical compounds in the fruit I got today.”

Pidge frowned slightly. “Care to elaborate?” they said after a moment of each staring at the other awkwardly.

“Well,” Hunk laughed, a hint of hysteria to his tone, “we need to update that ‘hazardous chemical’ sensor to include aphrodisiacs.”

The lightbulb clicked for Pidge in that moment. “Oh!” they exclaimed suddenly, feeling a little bit guilty at how they'd treated Hunk. “That's… unfortunate.”

Hunk chuckled, shifting awkwardly in place. “Yeah…” he agreed slowly. “So anyway, I couldn't get it to go away,” he said slowly, unable to meet Pidge’s gaze, “And it made my clothes feel uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable.”

Pidge now felt even worse. “Hunk, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” they said quietly. “That wasn't fair of me.”

“It's fine, I would've been pretty upset too if I had walked in on something like this,” Hunk said, gesturing sweepingly at himself to indicate his entire body. “I know I'm not exactly easy on the eyes.”

Pidge felt sick. “That's not what I was upset about,” they felt obligated to tell him. “Don't be so hard on yourself. You look great.”

Hunk’s lips tightened into a straight line and he whined high in his throat. He didn't seem able to speak for a moment, shoulders tensing. He relaxed gradually, eyes beginning to glaze over. “I appreciate that,” he said, “but maybe save the compliments for when I'm not under the influence of a powerful aphrodisiac.”

For a moment, Pidge didn't understand. Then they did. “Oh,” they said suddenly. “Oh, I'm sorry.” they stepped aside.

Hunk took a few steps, wincing slightly as he did so. “Hey, uh,” he flushed, though whether it was with embarrassment or arousal Pidge couldn't tell for sure, “would you mind checking to see if the coast is clear?” He gestured at what looked like a fully erect penis pinned inside his pants, “I don't want anyone else to see me like this.”

Pidge nodded, glancing down the hall. “You're clear,” they told Hunk, who hobbled into the hall, wincing uncomfortably as he slowly made his way down the corridor to join them at the corner. Pidge kept half their attention on the currently empty hallway ahead, the other half fixed on Hunk, who stopped suddenly halfway down the hall, doubling over with a loud groan. Pidge didn't hesitate for more than a moment, running over to make sure Hunk was all right.

Hunk was panting hard, sweating big droplets. His pupils were blown as wide as saucers. “Ah man,” he groaned when Pidge reached his side, “I don't think it’s going to let me leave.” He took a few breaths. A sudden shudder ran from the top of his head all the way down his back, quivering his entire body. He fell heavily into his knees, then all fours, bracing himself on the floor with his broad hands. He was panting loudly. “Hah,” he laughed once, not really sounding amused, “This is the worst day _ever_.”

A Pidge felt helpless, almost touching his shoulder, recoiling, reaching for him again… they wanted to help him. But _how_? “I can keep watch if you need to take care of it here,” Pidge offered.

Hunk’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I think that might be a good idea,” he rumbled softly, voice roughened by the promise of coming stimulation.

Pidge moved down the hall, doing their best to ignore the shuffling noises coming from several paces back. It was easier said than done, especially when they realized the sounds were different this time, whines and frustrated groans. Pidge dared a glance over their shoulder and saw Hunk fumbling with the zipper on his pants, his face a picture of focused intensity. He fumbled again and bit his lip, inhaling sharply. After a moment he seemed to give up, cupping himself through his pants. A low whine built in the base of his throat before escaping his mouth in a keening near-wail. Hunk remembered to cover his mouth then, sealing a hand over it to muffle the sounds he couldn't seem to keep locked inside.

Pidge knew they were supposed to be keeping watch, that they should respect Hunk’s privacy, but they couldn't seem to tear their eyes away from the scene unfolding before them.

Hunk bucked his hips into the palm of his hand, pants tight against his arousal. It was constructing to the point of near-pain, but his fingers, his whole arm, really, didn't seem to be cooperating. And so he rocked his hips in an uncoordinated frenzy, trying to get enough sensation to release some of the pressure building in his abdomen. Finally he peeled off his right glove, plunging the hand below his waistband. His grasp was clumsy and uncoordinated, but provided just enough sensation to finally draw out an orgasm, screaming as he came, his vision going white at the force of it. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding… he withdrew his hand from his waistband carefully, his limbs felt so weak, like he were half asleep and unable to find the right mental commands to move his body. As seconds turned into minutes, Hunk began to feel anxiety clutch at him. This wasn’t the afterglow. He still _couldn't move._ His arms were so weak, fingers so uncoordinated he couldn't even pull his glove back on. Pidge was still keeping watch. With effort, Hunk pulled himself up, leaning heavily on the wall, unwilling to take a step for fear his knees might buckle. “Pidge,” he called weakly, “we have a problem.” his voice shook. He hadn't asked for this, didn't want this! He’d just wanted to make a fruit platter to share with everyone, why was this happening to him?

Pidge, who had finally managed to turn away from the intimate scene unfolding behind them, stared resolutely at the wall. Then came the sound of Hunk’s voice - high, reedy, _scared_ . Pidge turned, and Hunk was braced against the wall, still flushed, a wet spot on his pants. His eyes were even more glazed than before, and he looked so _tired_. “What's wrong?” Pidge asked.

Hunk laughed hysterically. “I can't move,” he said. “I can barely stand.”

Pidge felt their stomach twist a little in pity. Hunk looked _miserable_. Pidge spared half a second to consider how Hunk was probably feeling right now. Alone in a public space, experiencing loss of control over an autonomic function, discovered in a vulnerable position by a respected colleague and good friend… Pidge hurried to Hunk, wrapping a tiny arm around his thick waist, doing their best to offer some support. “Let's try,” Pidge suggested.

Hunk took one step and nearly collapsed, falling against the wall and sliding to the floor. Pidge wondered if they had anything in the lab that might help. Suddenly, Pidge  remembered a hover cart they used for transporting bulky or heavy materials when Hunk wasn't around. They started to pull away from Hunk, but the Engineer clutched at Pidge frantically. “Don't leave me,” he whispered, his voice tight with near-panic. “Please, Pidge.”

“We can't stay here in the hallway,” you tell him, “I’m just going to get a hover cart.”

“Please,” Hunk repeated, and his eyes shone with unshed tears, pupils so dilated that his iris formed only a narrow ring. He was still deeply under the influence of the alien chemical.

Pidge decided despite their better judgement to stay with Hunk. “We can't stay here,” Pidge told him again, more firmly this time.

“Back to the kitchen?” Hunk suggested, a note of hysteria in his tone.

Pidge eyeballed the distance. “It's about five steps. Think you can make that?”

“I'll try and fall towards the door,” Hunk said. Pidge wasn't sure if that counted as a yes or a no, but they shrugged, pulling Hunk’s arm across their shoulders, lifting. Hunk braced his other arm on the wall, wobbling for three tiny steps before his knees buckled again. Pidge was almost pulled down with him, but managed to slip out from under his arm in the nick of time.

Two steps, fall. Three steps. Fall. One step, fall. They finally made it to the kitchen door. Two steps, fall. Hunk made no move to rise. “Leave me here,” he said miserably. “Just keep watch or something for me? Don't leave me,” he added, trailing off pitifully.

The whole walk to the kitchen, Pidge had tried hard not to notice that Hunk had already been getting hard _again._ But they _had_ noticed, and couldn't help the pang of pity that shot through their chest. How many times already had Hunk come? Was he tired? He seemed tired, barely able to move. Maybe he would fall asleep. Pidge promised Hunk they would be right outside, and quickly edged out, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the door. The image of Hunk, one hand gripped tight over his mouth, the other hand shoved into his pants swam before their eyes, and they immediately felt ashamed. That wasn't fair to think about Hunk like that, especially since he hadn't _wanted_ them to look.

His pupils, blown wide. Face flushed. Panting heavily. The sounds he’d made, the shout that his hand, though pressed hard against his mouth, had done little to muffle. The way his body had moved, rocking gently first, then with more force as the desperation had mounted…

Minutes passed as Pidge did little to stop their minds’ eye from replaying the scene, and even expanding on it a little. They felt a little guilty about doing so, because it was a bit like they were betraying Hunk’s trust, both because they’d watched him when he’d wanted privacy, and also because they were now enjoying the results of his misery. Caught up in the fantasy sparked by their voyeurism, it took Pidge a while to realize that the sounds coming from the kitchen were not the same as before. Freezing, Pidge leaned against the door, listening closely. What was Hunk doing? For a moment, Pidge couldn’t place the sound they heard. The realization came like a shot to the chest. Hunk was _crying_.

Forgetting everything in their desperation to help, Pidge threw open the door, shouting “Hunk!” before stuttering to a stop. Hunk was still every bit as dressed as he had been when the door had slid closed, although his length was straining even more uselessly against the tight constraints of his pants. He was slumped back, half-reclining against the counter nearest to the door, hands lying uselessly at his sides, eyes squeezed shut, mouth clamped tight, tears streaming almost silently down his cheeks. He took a shuddering breath in, a small sob escaping as he released the breath. He sniffled.

Pidge _knew_ Hunk had heard them come in, but the larger, older Paladin wouldn’t even look at Pidge, too ashamed, too… what?

“Hunk, what’s wrong?” Pidge asked softly, taking a hesitant step forward. Hunk’s face twisted slightly, but his eyes stayed resolutely shut. Another shuddering sob, and Pidge wanted to punch something. This wasn’t fair! Pidge wanted, no, _needed_ to help, but Hunk wouldn’t tell them what was wrong! “Does it hurt?” Pidge asked, moving a little bit closer, crouching down to reach Hunk’s level, rather than talking down at him.

Hunk shook his head, paused, then nodded a little.

“No...yes?” Pidge couldn’t quite figure out what that meant. “Hunk, please, talk to me.”

Hunk shook his head, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Please?” Pidge said, reaching out to gently wipe at the tears still streaming down his face. “I want to help.”

Hunk made a small gasping sound, tilting his head into Pidge’s hand, prolonging the contact for a few moments. His breathing picked up a little, and he groaned. Pidge froze, not sure what that meant. Was it good? Bad? They had no way of knowing. Carefully, Pidge wiped Hunk’s other cheek. The other Paladin arched into Pidge’s touch, a wanton moan bursting from his lips as Pidge lingered a moment, carefully dragging the back of their fingers down his cheek, brushing his lips lightly with the pad of their thumb.

Hunk’s mouth opened. His breath had gone to a shallow pant and his face was still flushed. His breath blew in and out, warm puffs of air ghosting over Pidge’s thumb and fingers. Pidge swallowed hard, pulling their hand away quickly. What are you doing? Pidge thought. This isn’t right. Leave him alone.

Hunk’s eyes were still closed, his mouth still open, but the tears had stopped. That was something, at least. Pidge worried at their bottom lip, not sure what to do. Hunk was lying perfectly still, had he given up? Was he frustrated? Pidge wanted to help, _needed_ to help. But they needed to know what was _wong_. What did Hunk need?

“Hunk,” Pidge said, softer this time. “Please. What’s wrong?”

Hunk’s mouth closed slowly, his lips squirming a little before finally he spoke. “Can’t move,” he said, voice thin and reedy. “At all.”

Pidge felt their heart stop. “What?”

Another tear trailed down Hunk’s cheek. “Hurts. Can’t move. Arms. Legs.” Just getting the words out seemed to be a fight for the larger Paladin, his words growing more slurred by the second. “Don’t go,” he whimpered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Pidge promised. But how to help? Hunk was _paralyzed._ How had the scanner not recognized this as a hazardous substance? Pidge could only conclude that the chemical wouldn’t _kill_ Hunk. And that the paralysis wouldn’t be permanent. Pidge stroked Hunk’s hair gently, intending to comfort. The engineer moaned in a very not-comforted but probably very aroused manner. Pidge stopped, pulled their hand away, hesitating. Hunk whined, high in his throat, at the loss of contact. An idea was slowly creeping into Pidge’s mind. A terrible idea. _A wonderful idea_.

“Hunk,” Pidge said quietly, reaching for the fly of his pants. “Tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable.” Pidge paused then. “Can you still speak?”

Hunk’s face twisted a little, then. “Kinda,” he managed, peeling one eye open to eye Pidge cautiously. “Why?” his gaze trailed down from Pidge’s face to their hands, hovering over Hunk’s pants.

Hunk flushed deeply. “You don’t have to,” he said quickly, almost stumbling over his words in his haste to get them out.

“Yes or no?” Pidge shot back. “It’s a yes from me. You?”

Hunk shut his eyes again. A few seconds passed, the only sound their twin breaths in the otherwise silent kitchen. “Okay,” Hunk said finally.

Pidge carefully loosened Hunk’s pants, staring awkwardly the Engineer’s Star Trek patterned underwear. Of course it was Star Trek. From this point, Pidge had essentially no practical experience, and as the proud owner of a vagina, they had no real idea how to deal with a long piece of wobbly erectile tissue. Just… touch it? Pidge tugged down the waistband of Hunk’s underpants, freeing the sensitive organ from the confines of the cotton undergarment.

A sob of relief escaped Hunk’s lips, which Pidge took as a sign of encouragement. Carefully, Pidge wrapped their small, soft hand around Hunk’s sensitive flesh. They weren’t sure what to do next. They had never really been very interested in sex in general, and beyond a few spelunking adventures with devices they’d whipped up in the dead of night when no one was around to judge, Pidge was basically complete novice in area of lewd encounters, and as such, was experiencing a sort of metaphorical paralysis of their own.

“You don’t have to,” Hunk murmured, and Pidge looked up to meet his steady gaze. His eyes were slightly glazed, his cheeks still flushed, breath still coming in shallow gasps. But he didn’t seem concerned about that in the slightest, much more concerned with Pidge, eyes tracking their every movement.

“I _want_ to,” Pidge said firmly, spurred into action by his words. Gently, because they didn’t know exactly how this worked, they began to stroke along the underside of Hunk’s dick. It was solid, and warm, and felt heavy in their hands as they carefully encircled it with their hands, sliding them up and down gently. Tentatively, Pidge flicked their thumb lightly along the slit in the head of the penis, and Hunk yelped, his dick twitching in response as well. Emboldened by an apparent success, Pidge continued gently running their fingers along Hunk’s length. Hunk was gasping, groaning, unable to move but his voice communicated well enough when Pidge was in a good spot, and when it was time to move on.

Before long, Hunk shouted, several muscles in his abdominal area tensed, and then his penis began to wilt. There hadn’t been any semen. Pidge assumed Hunk must have used up all the fluid in the last orgasm. Or else Pidge had been so bad at this that they had actually chased away Hunk’s arousal. Pidge wasn’t sure which answer they liked better.

Hunk was lying back, still half-reclining, eyes closed, a look of contentment on his face. Pidge hoped he would sleep, that maybe this would all be over soon. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Rather, Hunk’s eyes peeled open slowly, his face glowing with sweet relief. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Pidge nodded, feeling a weak smile crossing their features. It wasn’t exactly what they’d had planned for the afternoon, but honestly, touching someone’s dick hadn’t been as repulsive as they’d expected it to be. And Hunk’s responses had been… fulfilling. With a small ‘hmm’ of contentment, Pidge reached down to pull Hunk’s pants back up, pausing suddenly. “Oh…” they whispered. “Oh no.”

Hunk was watching Pidge carefully. “You don’t have to,” he began,  but Pidge cut him off with a look.

“Are you sore?” Pidge asked. They didn’t know very much about the sexual organs of human males, but, Hunk’s penis was looking pretty raw and abused at this point.

Hunk bit his lip, looking away, a blush crossing his cheeks.

Pidge contemplated Hunk for a moment. “There is another way to stimulate your body,” they reminded the heavyset Paladin.

Hunk’s eyes flew back to Pidge’s face. He looked a cross between apprehensive and _terrified_.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want!” Pidge protested quickly. “It’s just… a prostate massage would give your penis a chance to recuperate.”

Hunk’s face burned. He looked away again, staring at some spot on the ceiling for about ten seconds. “Do it,” he said finally.

“I’ll need to take your pants off completely,” Pidge warned Hunk, “not just around your knees.”

Hunk glanced back at Pidge. “Do it,” he repeated, sounding more certain this time.

Pidge carefully tugged off Hunk’s pants, pushed his knees up so they would have better access to Hunk’s tight, puckered entrance, and paused. “Um,” Pidge said, “I probably need some sort of lubricant.” They glanced around. “Is there any oil?”

“Coconut,” Hunk panted, pointing at a cupboard. “Smells the nicest,” he added by way of explanation. Pidge quickly located the coconut oil, slathered it all over their first finger, and began to carefully drip coconut oil around Hunk’s small hole. They inserted the finger gently, just to the first knuckle. Hunk was still partially paralysed, so he didn’t put up much resistance. He did hold his breath, though, so Pidge quickly reminded him to breathe. Removing their finger, Pidge applied more coconut oil liberally and began again, slowly inching their finger in, removing it, adding more coconut oil, inserting it just a little bit further with each repetition.

Hunk didn’t really seem to be enjoying himself much until Pidge crooked her finger _just so_ and suddenly he was shouting, making the most _lewd_ noises and Pidge found they really enjoyed finding the exact right angle to get Hunk screaming in ecstasy. When Hunk came, he was still dry, which was not all that unsurprising, considering it had only taken about forty minutes -  although Pidge had gone very slowly, and it had taken him a bit longer to reach his climax, forty minutes just wasn’t enough time for the prostate to produce more fluid. It didn’t take long for Pidge to see that Hunk would need another round, his dick quickly going from flaccid to erect over the course of the next fifteen minutes. Pidge was trying to find other ways to get Hunk off - his dick looked red, raw, and Pidge didn’t want to hurt him.  “Hunk,” Pidge asked carefully, “Do you have any sensitive body parts?”

Hunk choked slightly. He seemed to be gaining a little more control over his speech, and Pidge hoped that meant that the paralysis was beginning to wear off.  “Um,” Hunk said nervously. “I’m not sure?”

Pidge gave him a look.

“Everything is a sensitive body part,” Hunk explained haltingly. “The chemical… every sensation is intensified.”

Pidge nodded slowly, and reached for the hem of Hunk’s shirt. “Do you mind?”

Hunk blushed deeply. “I don’t think you’ll like…” he trailed off awkwardly. “It’s not…”

“Yes. Or no,” Pidge asked flatly.

“Fine,” Hunk responded, once again screwing his eyes shut. Pidge lifted his shirt, edging it over his stomach, running their hands along his skin, watching an involuntary shiver race down his sides. Pidge pushed his shirt up over Hunk’s chest, running a thumb over his chest and playing lightly with his nipple. Hunk gasped, eyes flying open. Pidge smirked at Hunk, carefully manoevering the shirt up his shoulders and off of him entirely, sitting back momentarily to enjoy the view. Hunk lay there, chest rising and falling rapidly, a flush spreading across not only his face, but also his chest and shoulders. He was solid, but soft, his skin shone with beads of sweat, and his eyes tracked Pidge’s every movement, concern and hesitation. He was expecting something. Pidge wasn’t sure what, exactly. But Pidge was going to give him _something_ to think about, in any case.

With a small grin, Pidge focused on Hunk’s left nipple, crawling over Hunk’s torso and taking the nipple into their mouth. They hadn’t wanted to use their mouth on his dick, because, well, they weren’t sure if they were comfortable with that just yet. Also, protection. But this… tongue to skin, the subtle pressure of lips and the sharp hint of teeth teasing at his sensitive flesh...this was fun, and had the added bonus of probably being more sanitary than a kiss. Pidge was going to enjoy this. Running one hand down Hunk’s soft sides, Pidge licked a small circle around Hunk’s nipple, enjoying the way it stiffened in response to the attention. Hunk himself was groaning, making little noises of pleasure in response to Pidge’s every touch. It took longer this time, but eventually, without even touching Hunk’s dick, the engineer orgasmed again, still dry.

For about ten minutes the two of them waited. Pidge was about ready to declare victory when Hunk made a face. “Aw, crap,” he said, and Pidge knew.

Pidge wasn’t sure what to do now. They had never actually done anything like this before, and they were running out of ideas. “Hunk,” Pidge said slowly, “I don’t know what to do now.”

Hunk shifted slightly. “I think I can move now,” he said weakly, and proved it by edging up against the counter until he sat almost upright. “You don’t have to do anything. Just, I don’t know, go away?”

Pidge narrowed their eyes at him. “And what are you going to do?”

“Rub it out,” Hunk said quietly. “Pretend this never happened.”

For some reason, that didn’t sit well with Pidge. “What if,” they said softly, moving closer to Hunk, “What if I don’t want to pretend this never happened?”

Hunk snorted in disbelief. “You don’t have to protect my feelings, Pidge.”

Pidge felt something like anger. “I’m not protecting _your_ feelings,” they shot back. “I’m just saying _what if I don’t want to pretend_ ? What if I wanted to, I don’t know, _kiss_ you?”

Hunk stiffened, looked up slowly, eyes wide. His eyes, Pidge noticed, weren’t quite so glassy. The pupils, once blown almost unnaturally wide, were still dilated but not so dramatically. “Do you… want to kiss me?” Hunk asked hesitantly, like he was afraid to hear the answer.

Pidge realized, with some chagrin, that yes, they very much did want to kiss Hunk. “Would that be okay?” Pidge asked quietly.

“Um, sure,” Hunk said softly.

Pidge needed no other invitation, settling down on Hunk’s lap and sealing their lips to Hunk’s. The kiss was desperate and awkward, and they broke apart several seconds later, breathing hard and giggling nervously.

“I think I need practice,” Hunk said apologetically.

“Practice with me,” Pidge replied breathlessly, and he did.

They practiced for about ten minutes, routinely breaking apart to catch their breath before once more moving towards each other once more, tongues twining, Pidge running their hands all over Hunk’s body. Slowly, Hunk began to respond, first rolling his hips, then able to gently lift a hand, cupping Pidge’s cheek, then burying his hand in Pidge’s soft hair, gripping almost-tightly. Pidge rocked their hips as well, the two of them “practicing” as best they could, both moaning and gasping, until with a yelp, Hunk was stiffening and then going limp and soft, his limbs dropping bonelessly beside him as he panted helplessly. Pidge nuzzled at his neck, pressing small kisses under his jaw. Hunk murmured something unintelligible.

“Hmm?” Pidge prompted quietly.

“I think it’s over,” Hunk repeated himself.

Pidge felt a wave of disappointment, then immediately felt guilty for their disappointment. It was _good._ Hunk had been in pain, he’d been stressed and uncomfortable, and…

What would they do now? Pidge felt their voice quiver a little as they voiced that very question. “What do we do now?”

Hunk contemplated for a minute. “I should probably get dressed,” he said after a moment, “And sleep. And burn the kitchen.”

“Don’t burn the kitchen,” Pidge complained, “I like it here.”

“Even after this mess?” Hunk gestured at himself dismissively.

“Of course,” Pidge said. “Where else are we supposed to practice?”

Hunk’s eyes widened. “P-practice?” he repeated.

Pidge felt their stomach twist. Oh no. He didn’t want this. Why had they thought it had been a good idea to bring that up again. Pidge should have just left the whole matter alone.”Yeah,” Pidge managed nervously. “You know. Get better at kissing. And stuff.”

Hunk stared blankly at Pidge for a moment. “You’re joking.”

Pidge felt their heart sink. “I... _could_ be joking, if you want me to.”

Hunk shook his head suddenly, reaching out to grab Pidge’s shoulders. “I really, _really_ don’t want you to be joking,” he confessed.

Pidge felt ten pounds lighter at the admission. “Oh, good,” they said. “Because I really didn’t want to be joking either.”

Hunk’s face lit up. “I do have a suggestion though,” he said softly.

“Yeah?” Pidge replied, tone and volume matching Hunk’s.

“Maybe next time, we, uh,” Hunk glanced around the kitchen. “Choose somewhere a little more private?” he blushed, reaching back behind his head to scrub at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m not actually a fan of exhibitionism.”

Pidge felt a laugh bubble up, and they embraced it, chuckling as they leaned their head against Hunk’s broad, warm chest. “Me neither,” they confessed. “Let’s do this in my room next time.”

“Or my room,” Hunk suggested. “I have snacks.”

“Oh, you have snacks?” Pidge couldn’t hide the smile in their voice. “Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> ((“Nah,” Hunk replied, laying his head on top of Pidge's. “ _You_ sound perfect.”))
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
